12 Days of Christmas Challenge
by ecv
Summary: My twelve days of Christmas entries.
1. Mistletoe

_A/N: The rules for the Bonesology 12 days of Christmas challenge was to select a couple - figuring most people would choose Booth/Brennan (and who blames them), I went for a couple formed by friendship, rather than a romantic couple. Which I think means I broke the rules...sorry. I haven't posted this over at Bonesology, just in case it doesn't belong in the contest because I chose to do it this way._

 _I did get Bones for Christmas, but it was Season 10 on DVD, so I guess I still don't really own Bones, at least not the way we mean when we write this disclaimer._

Booth stormed into Sweets' office and closed the door behind him. Without a word, he slumped into one of the available chairs, nervously adjusting his tie. He'd been second guessing making this visit the moment the idea had popped into his head. Why would he think the twelve year old psychologist would be able to help him?

Sweets looked up in surprise from the file he was reading. He could count on one hand the number of times Booth had come to his office of his own volition. The current case they were working was approaching a successful conclusion and Sweets was not aware of any issues between Booth and his partner.

Closing the file, Sweets looked at the man sitting across from him. He looked stressed and kept nervously glancing at the ceiling, as if afraid something was suddenly going to appear over his head.

"Can I help you, Agent Booth?" Sweets finally asked.

Even with the question, the silence stretched on so long, Sweets was sure the agent was going to get up and leave without saying a word. Finally, Booth sighed, but still refused to shift his eyes from his tie. "I think I've developed a new phobia."

Of all the things he expected to hear, that was not one of them. "Is this fear the level of clowns, Agent Booth? Are you in danger of shooting someone?"

"Caroline, maybe," Booth grumbled. "But she's not what I'm afraid of."

Intrigued, and more than a little confused, Sweets moved from behind his desk to a chair directly across from Booth. In his hand, he held a notepad, something he always kept ready. It helped him to think and reflect on what his visitors said to him. "So what is it you've developed a phobia to?"

Another deep sigh and nervous fidgeting commenced until Booth finally worked up nerve to mutter an answer.

"Mistletoe."

"Excuse me?" Sweets asked, sure he didn't hear the agent correctly. "Did you just say you've developed a phobia to mistletoe?"

"Yes, that's what I said," Booth replied. He jumped to his feet and made a move toward the door. "Just forget I said anything."

"Sit down, Agent Booth," Sweets ordered, surprised at the tone of authority in his voice.

Booth, apparently also surprised at the tone, turned slowly and returned to his seat like a child being punished. "It's not really a phobia," he tried to explain.

"Agent Booth, I'm not judging you," Sweets reassured him. "I am however curious at what brought about this new disdain for mistletoe?"

As the silence again stretched out between them, Sweets began a list of all the indicators Booth gave of being nervous or uncomfortable.

Readjusting of his tie? Check.

Running his hand through his hair? Check.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose. Check and double check.

"I kissed Bones, under the mistletoe," Booth said in a rush. He looked up briefly to assess Sweets' reaction to his declaration before looking back at the floor again.

Because the glance was so fast, Booth missed the raised eyebrows and shock clearly visible on his colleague's face before Sweets managed to recover. Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan had kissed? And from Booth's half muttered comment about Caroline, Sweets would guess she had something to do with it.

"Was the kiss not what you expected it to be?"

Booth snorted and Sweets immediately made the leap to what had caused this new phobia.

"No," Booth said softly. "It was exactly what I expected it to be."

And there was the problem. It was everything he'd hoped it would be, even if the kiss had been orchestrated by Caroline.

"Are you afraid of the mistletoe because you are afraid of kissing Dr. Brennan again?"

Booth shrugged. "I'm not sure if I'm looking for it to avoid it, or looking for it to get another chance."

Setting the notepad aside, Sweets considered the agent. The psychologist in him wondered if he would ever have the right words to push Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan to admit their feelings to each other.

"You know that's not a phobia, Agent Booth."

"Yeah," Booth agreed. "Listen, Sweets, I really do have to go." This time, when he got to his feet, Sweets didn't try to stop him.

But he did get him to pause with his next words. "Agent Booth, I know how you feel about her. Even blind, I think we all know how you feel about her. Everything with Dr. Brennan takes time. Time and evidence. Consider the kiss one more piece of that evidentiary puzzle."

"So you think I should kiss her again?" Booth asked. But there was no hope in his voice. He seemed almost resigned, as if he knew or assumed the next kiss would end with Brennan running away from him at Christmas.

"I think, Agent Booth, that if you both happen to be under the mistletoe, you should use your knowledge of Dr. Brennan to make the best judgement. You push her beyond her comfort zone, but you always seem to know when to pull back. Trust that if the opportunity comes again, you'll both say and do the right thing."

Pressing his lips together, Booth left the office without another word, leaving Sweets to pray to whoever was listening that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan would find their own Christmas miracle.


	2. Hot Chocolate

"Are you ready yet?" Booth yelled up the stairs. He'd already loaded the car with the sleds, and was tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for the rest of the household to meet him downstairs.

"We're coming," Brennan said from the top of the stairs. She held Christine's hand as the little girl carefully made her way down the steps. Behind them, Sweets brought up the rear, a silly grin on his face.

Booth looked up at them and shook his head. "What are you wearing on your head?"

An innocent look on his face, Sweets raised his eyes toward his own head. "You mean the hat?"

Rolling his eyes, Booth scooped his daughter from the steps and hugged her tight. "You ready to go sledding?" he asked, before turning his attention back to Sweets. "Of course, I mean the hat."

"Yellow is the color of happiness," Brennan interjected at they moved toward the car.

Booth glared at the psychologist. "What did I tell you about leaving those books where she could find them?"

Unapologetic, Sweets trailed the family toward the car. "I appreciate you inviting me to spend the day with your family."

Booth gave him a curt nod that said everything and nothing at the same time.

It was a short ride to the sledding hill and Christine was almost bursting with excitement when they arrived.

"Take me, take me," she said to her father, tugging him toward the hill.

Sweets watched the exchange with amusement, until the moment Booth pulled his hand away. "Let Uncle Lance take you," he said.

"I'll take you," Brennan offered, letting the little girl lead her away. She turned back once to look at Booth over her shoulder, letting him know she'd want an explanation later.

"Let it go," Booth said quickly, before Sweets could ask.

Figuring the crowd would prevent Booth from actually hitting him, Sweets chose to ignore the unwanted advice to ask a question. "Why won't you take her sledding, Booth?"

A swift glance to the side let Sweets know exactly what Booth thought of the question. He didn't walk away though, something Sweets took as a good sign.

Booth scuffed a booted foot in the snow before exhaling a breath visible in the air. "I took Jared sledding once. We came home cold, wet, and hungry."

"It sounds like it was a good day."

Another glance to the side. "You'd think so and it was. Until we got home and dad was there."

Familiar with Booth's childhood, Sweets didn't need any further explanation. "And you're afraid those memories of that day will somehow ruin this one."

A corner of Booth's mouth lifted as he watched Christine slide down the hill with his wife, both of them grinning from ear to ear. He wanted desperately to join them, but didn't wanted his fractured childhood to somehow taint his daughter's.

"Those memories won't go away, Booth. But you can replace them with something better. Then, the next time someone mentions sledding, you will think of this day first, and not the other. Go," Sweets said, giving him a friendly shove. "I'll go in the warming hut and get everyone some hot chocolate."

Relieved when Booth walked away from him, Sweets went to purchase the hot chocolate and watch his second adopted family through the window.

He was pleased to see Booth grab his daughter from behind, much to the little girl's delight, and settle her on his lap for a trip down the hill.

One run quickly turned into many more and the family was cold and more than just a little tired when they met Sweets inside the warming hut.

He handed each member a warm cup of hot chocolate and half listened as Christine relayed the fun of sliding down the hill.

"Thank you," Brennan said as she took hers. She hadn't asked what had taken place between the two men and had no desire to know. The friendship that had developed between them was something she appreciated.

She knew it was important Booth had more than just her to rely on.


	3. Snow

"It's really coming down out there," Sweets said, looking out the window of Booth's office.

Booth switched off his computer and grabbed his jacket. "Let's go," he said to his new housemate. Sweets had moved in after he and Daisy's break-up. At first, it had been uncomfortable having the younger man in his house with Brennan and his daughter, but now Booth was dreading the moment he would actually leave.

It was like having a younger brother in the same house all over again. A younger brother who had a maturity level equal to Christine's sometimes, but then again, so did Booth.

"The weather service said we could get a foot of snow tonight," Booth said, as he practically dragged Sweets out of his office.

As they exited the building toward the parking lot, both men came to an abrupt halt.

"I think they meant to say we might have a foot of snow before midnight," Sweets commented, squinting to try and see the vehicle through the swirling snow.

Booth looked down at his feet, clad in only dress shoes, and out at the parking lot, quickly coming to the conclusion that his feet would be both wet and cold before he got anywhere near the SUV.

Glancing to his right, he realized Sweets was going to have the same problem.

"Come on. It's not going to get any better." Clenching his teeth, Booth took the first step out into the storm.

Hunching his shoulders against the cold and wind, Sweets followed behind him.

The wind made speech impossible. The swirling snow was hypnotic as Booth tried to find his SUV. He was thankful for the imposing vehicle on an afternoon like this one.

A poke to his arm had Booth looking at the man with him. Sweets pulled his hands from the pocket of his coat long enough to point at Booth's vehicle.

Relieved, both picked up the pace, looking forward to the shelter the vehicle would provide. Travel might be slow, but they would both be warm, even if they weren't totally dry.

"We're going to have to brush this off first," Booth said. Opening the back, he grabbed a snow brush and began pushing at the snow.

Sweets started off helping, but he didn't have gloves and his hands were cold. Besides, he hated to let all of this snow go to waste.

So, when Booth wasn't paying attention, he formed what he considered was an almost perfect snowball, and threw it at him.

His aim was true and the snowball hit Booth dead center in his back.

Whirling in surprise, Booth glared at the man before going back to brushing the vehicle off. This wasn't the time to be indulging in childhood activities like snowball fights.

Disappointed his action didn't get the desired results, Sweets formed a second snowball and threw this one as well.

His aim was a little less accurate, and Booth was struck in the back of the head. At contact, the snowball disintegrated, snow falling down the collar of Booth's jacket.

This time, there was no reaction, and Sweets wondered what it would take to get a rise out of the man. Figuring a third snowball would do the trick, he bent over to get the necessary snow when he was tackled from behind.

The force of the hit drove his face into the snow, making it difficult to breath. Sweets flailed in panic, using every one of strength he had to remove the man from his back.

Surprised at the level of resistance, Booth lost his balance and fell into the snow next to Sweets. In seconds, the other man regained his feet, using the advantage to scoop up handfuls of snow and throw them at Booth.

Retaliation was necessary and Booth quickly began to do the same. Within moments, both men were covered in snow and breathing heavily.

"We need to get going," Booth said, holding up a hand to call a halt to the whole thing.

Sweets nodded, wondering when his playful exchange had taken such a wrong turn.

Both men climbed into the SUV, shivering from the wet and cold of the snow. Neither dared look at the other, both wondering if an apology was in order.

"I'm glad you insisted Dr. Brennan take the day off," Sweets said. He was hoping he could fill the uncomfortable silence with a safe topic. They were impatiently waiting for the windshield to clear enough for Booth to drive safely.

Booth grunted in agreement. It hadn't been an easy argument to win, none of them with his wife ever were, but he was glad he'd stood his ground on this one.

"Did you know," Sweets said, as Booth finally pulled out of the parking lot, "that Washington only gets about two blizzards every decade?"

Wondering if it was worth the risk to take his eyes from the road to glare at Sweets, Booth decided not to take the chance. "That sounds like something Bones would say."

Sweets shrugged but didn't disagree. Silence filled the car as Booth slowly made his way back to his residence.

By the time they were halfway to the house, both men had progressed from mildly annoyed to just mad. They were shivering, despite having the heater on high, and neither had a dry piece of clothing touching their skin.

Booth knew Sweets would be thinking about the large tub in the upstairs bedroom, but there was no way that man was getting his tub. Let him find his own way to warm up. It was his fault they were wet to begin with.

Forty-five minutes later, Booth pulled into the driveway. He turned and glared at Sweets for the hundredth time. "Bones isn't going to let us into the house looking like this."

Looking at the angry man across from him and then at himself, Sweets thought Booth was probably right. Their suits were damp, and there was a good probability they were ruined. Hair was plastered to foreheads, and every so often, a cold drip of water ran down Sweets' neck.

Not answering, Sweets exited the car, closing the door a bit harder than necessary. It had only been meant as a little fun. It wasn't his fault Booth had taken it quite so seriously.

As if Booth needed any more reasons to say _I told you so,_ Brennan met them at the door. "What happened to you two?"

Booth brushed past her and Sweets. "He started it," he snapped, heading for the tub. "I'm going to warm up."

Making an inference based on the evidence in front of her, Brennan fought back a laugh. "Come on," she said to Sweets. "I'll get you a towel, make some coffee, and you can tell me all about it."


	4. Christmas Tree

"Come on, Sweets, get out of my office," Booth ordered. Grabbing his coat from the chair, Booth continually forced himself into Sweets' personal space. Each step back the younger man took put him closer to the door.

"Is there a reason you're in such a hurry?" Sweets asked. The next step he took was to the side, rather than back, which kept him in the office.

Booth sighed, knowing Sweets wouldn't leave without an explanation. "I'm getting the Christmas tree today. I need to get it home."

Making another move to get Sweets out of his office, Booth slowed at the look of intense longing that flashed through Sweets' eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but Booth read people to well to miss it.

He tried to figure out a way to ask a question, without appearing like he wanted to ask the question. Finally, taking a lesson from Bones, he just said what he was thinking. "You putting up a tree this year?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sweets shook his head. "It's just me this year and with Daisy and I not together right now, there doesn't seem to be much point. A lot of work if I'm the only one that's going to enjoy it."

Leaning against the door frame, Sweets thought of his past holidays. "I don't think I've put up an actual tree since my parents died."

Sweets swallowed a sigh that would have sounded pathetic and looked at Booth. "I better let you go get your tree."

His shoulders were slumped when he left the office. Booth let him go, playing with the chip he always kept in his pocket. He couldn't imagine not celebrating his favorite holiday. No tree, no lights, and no presents hiding underneath? Sounded like the worst thing ever to him.

Staring at the path Sweets had just walked, Booth considered his options. After a moment, he came to a decision, picked up his phone, and dialed.

"Hey, Bones. Can you sneak out early? Good. Grab Christine. I'll be there to pick you up. I need your help with something."

It wasn't the largest tree Booth had ever purchased. Brennan insisted that in be in a pot, so Sweets could plant it after the holiday was over. When informed of their secret mission, Christine had picked out ornaments and decorations from the store that she was sure Uncle Sweets would love.

To get the key, Booth flashed his badge at the building manager, implying he was there on official government business. Not wanting to deal with an investigation, the man had handed over the key willingly.

A little more than an hour. That was all it took to have the tree set up in the corner of the tiny apartment. Tinsel and garland and lights and bulbs made it look bigger than it actually was. Booth lifted his daughter on his shoulders so she could place the star at the top of the tree.

"You're a good man, Seeley Booth," Brennan whispered to him as he closed and locked the door behind them. He hoped the kiss on his cheek would lead to more kisses later, after they put up their own tree.

It was well after midnight when Sweets arrived home. The conversation with Booth had depressed him, and he'd worked longer then he planned, dreading the empty apartment. He was so tired, he missed the glow of the lights visible under the door. As it swung open in front of him, he stood in shocked silence, his mouth forming a perfect circle of surprise.

Since there was no one around to witness it, it seemed okay to let the tears fall. Closing the door gently behind him, he walked across the floor to run a hand across the branches, marveling that a man who seemed so tough on the outside would go through all of this trouble.

There were two gifts under the tree. One with a label that said to open now and a second with a label to open on Christmas Day.

Shrugging out of his coat, Sweets grabbed the gift and brought it to the couch. A little annoyed that his Christmas tree was now behind him, he wrestled with the piece of furniture until it faced the correct direction. It seemed wrong to have his back turned toward a miracle.

He pulled the paper from the package carefully, folding it and placing it to the side. It was a habit he'd developed from his mother. She'd always saved certain pieces of wrapping paper, the ones she'd referred to as special. Years later, she could tell anyone who cared to listen what had been wrapped in those colorful sheets.

Nestled inside the little box, was a yellow baby duck engraved with the year. Sweets figured it was something Christine had picked out, and hung it in a prominent position on the front of the tree.

The lights still danced behind his closed eyes when he finally fell asleep on the couch. Sweets was pretty sure he'd sleep there for the entire month, just so he could stare at the tree a little longer.

Booth nervously awaited Sweets' arrival the next morning. The man had a tendency to get overexcited about things and Booth had no idea how he'd explain a grown man jumping into his arms in his office.

He made sure he was sitting behind his desk when Sweets finally walked in, preventing just such as event. He was slightly surprised when Sweets closed the door and sat in the chair across from him, a serious look on his face.

"I know what you did," Sweets said.

Booth made no reply, simply nodding.

"And I know how you feel about most outward displays of emotion."

Another nod.

Sweets got to his feet and held out a hand. "So, thank you, Agent Booth. Thank you for being the kind of man who buys a friend a Christmas tree. Thank you for reminding me that I'm not alone in the world."

Great. Now he was in danger of displaying some of that emotion Sweets had just referred to. Also rising, Booth grabbed the offered hand.

Swallowing, he managed to say in a clear voice, "Merry Christmas, Sweets."

"Merry Christmas, Agent Booth."


	5. Angel

Three days after Bones let him move back home after his gambling relapse, Booth opened his eyes to find her side of the bed empty and Sweets standing in the corner of his bedroom.

Blinking hard, Booth sat up, realizing he could see the dresser through the vision. Maybe, because of all the stress he'd put himself and his family under, he'd finally lost his mind?  
"You some sort of angel?" he asked, feeling foolish.

Sweets looked down at himself and back at Booth, nodding his head. "Of course, what else would I be? I suppose I could be some sort of ghost, but I think I'd haunt the parking garage and not your bedroom . Or maybe my office. It bugs me that someone else got my office."

Booth flopped back down on the bed. After a moment he opened one eye to see Sweets still standing in the same spot. "Bones would tell me this wasn't real."

"And you would tell her it was. Working with such different personalities was one of the greatest parts of my job."

"Am I imagining this?" Booth asked, not totally sure he wasn't. He sat back up and stared across the room. If he looked directly at him, Sweets image was a lot harder to see than if he kind of looked to the left or right of him.

"Do you think you're imagining it?"  
Booth glared at him. "I always hated when you answered a question with a question."

Sweets smiled. "They teach you that the first day in shrink school."

Booth looked out toward the rest of the house, wondering where Bones had gone. What would she think if she could hear him talking to no one?

"Dr. Brennan won't hear us," Sweets said, answering Booth's unasked question. "It's just one of those things."

What the hell, Booth thought, even if this is just a dream, might as well go along with it. "You wouldn't happen to know if the Flyers are going to get better anytime soon?"

"I can't predict the future, Agent Booth."

"Yeah, that would probably take more of a miracle than even God can perform." Booth looked over at the clock. It was just after midnight. "Is there a reason you're back tonight, Sweets?"

"I wanted to tell you I was proud of you."

Booth snorted in disbelief. "Proud of me? I know you're dead, but have you been paying attention the past year?"

"Of course I have, Agent Booth. Have you?"

Grabbing a pillow, Booth punched at it. "I caused your death. Started gambling again. Disappointed my friends and family. There's not a whole lot there to be proud of."

"You weren't the cause of my death. The person who killed me was. It was my choice to take that warrant."

That's what Booth was slowly coming to believe as well. There were nights though, when the overwhelming sense of guilt threatened to swallow him whole.

"And did you disappoint your friends and family? I think that might be the wrong word. You scared them, made them worry about you, but I don't think you could ever disappoint Dr. Brennan. She loves you too much for that."

"I'm still waiting to hear what you might find in that to be proud of."

"There are people who suffer from addictions who never find their way out. Your father, your brother. You're finding your way again. Your friends and family will grow to trust you again. They already are. There is plenty in that to be proud of."

Sweets watched him for a moment, but didn't expect Booth to actually say anything. The man had always had the annoying ability to shut down or not participate in any conversation that made him uncomfortable. "Sometimes, you take too much credit for some things, and not enough for others."

Nodding, Booth grabbed the pillow and tossed it toward the image, amused when it sailed through him and landed at the base of the dresser. "I won't see you again, will I?"

Fading now, Sweets shook his head. "You can see me whenever you want. Just go visit my son."

Rubbing a hand across his face, Booth glanced back at the clock, shocked to see only a minute had passed. The conversation had felt much longer than that.

The floor was icy on his bare feet as he went to look for his wife. He found her in the kitchen, making a snack for herself.

Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her and her growing belly. Nuzzling her neck, he breathed in the scent that was uniquely her and smiled. "Come back to bed," he whispered. "I want to tell you about the dream I had."

She turned and looked at him curiously. "Was is a good dream?"

"Yeah, it was."


	6. Pie

"What the hell was that?" Booth yelled when Sweets appeared in his office. Angrily, Booth closed the door behind the man and leaned against it. Deciding the look wasn't imposing enough, Booth crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"What was what?" Sweets asked, genuinely confused. He wasn't always sure what comment would set Booth off. Sometime it was something about a case, other times it was something about Dr. Brennan.

"You saying that I was trying to seduce Bones. Why would you think I was trying to seduce her?"

Sweets shoved his hands into his pockets. Now, this was definitely interesting. "I believe what I said was something about how you always wanting her to try pie could be interpreted as a type of seduction. Interpreted, Agent Booth. Is that how you're interpreting it?"

"No, of course not," he spluttered. Even if the idea did have possibilities. "I like pie, I just think she might like pie, too, if she tried it."

Mirroring Booth's stance, Sweets grinned. "So, following the implication, you're saying if Dr. Brennan would just try you, she might discover how much she liked it? See, it is a seduction attempt."

Closing his eyes and counting to ten, Booth made a valiant attempt to hold on to his patience, and failed miserably. Turning, he opened the office door and pointed. "Get out. Just get out."

Knowing that leaving was probably the best option, Sweets made one more comment as he walked past the clearly annoyed agent. "Maybe we should discuss this during your next visit to my office."

Booth grabbed the back of Sweets' collar to halt his forward progress. "If you ever mention this again, they won't find your body," he growled.

With the threat relayed loud and clear, Booth gave the man a sharp shove to complete his journey out of the office. The door was not only closed, but securely locked behind Sweets.

Thankful Booth couldn't see the amused smile, the psychologist headed back toward his office.

Returning to the pile of work on his desk, Booth shoved it aside ten minutes later, the image of Bones trying him out, instead of pie, refusing to leave his head.


	7. Frost

Booth exited his car, immediately shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Each exhale appeared as a white cloud as he used his hip to close the door behind him.

He'd made this journey many times since that day, on his birthday and once, early on Christmas morning, before his children rose to open presents. He wasn't sure what had drawn him there that morning, but he'd managed to make the journey and return home before any besides Bones noticed he was missing.

Frost on the grass marked his path as he climbed the hill; the ground appearing as if it had snowed the night before. When the sun finally rose high enough in the sky, it would disappear. But at this moment, before the day really began, Booth left footprints in his wake.

There was no marker, nothing to indicate what his group of friends had done. A group that had expanded and contracted since the day he met his wife. Some of those friends had gone on to new jobs and different adventures. Some of those friends still came to dinner on special occasions.

He hadn't had close friends before Bones. There had been men in the military, but they had long ago gone their separate ways. Some agents from the FBI who were acquaintances, but never more than that. This group of friends had accepted him and stuck. When he saw Bones again, he'd have to take the time to thank her for that.

This friend had moved on as well, to a new adventure, Booth supposed. An adventure where phone calls were never answered and letters never reached their intended recipient. The conversations were all held inside Booth's head now, his imagination supplying the answers and advice.

Sweets had been an unwelcome addition to his life at first. Forced to deal with the man because of work, Booth could not verbalize the moment when annoyance had turned toward friendship and then toward family, despite the beginning. He'd turned out to be the younger brother Jared hadn't been. The kind who said the truth, whether you wanted to hear it or not. A person Booth knew he could call, no matter the hour, to get whatever help he required.

Some of that help had come when Booth was in prison. Bones had relayed some of it, but certainly not all. He'd never get the chance to thank the man for the rest of it. Sweets would have told him it didn't matter, but it always did. It was that way with any relationship that ended suddenly; there were always a thousand things you wish you could say, or wish you had said, but never took the time to do so.

There were the other things, too. The things that Booth would have liked to hit him for, if he still had the chance. Hiding the truth about his fake death from Bones. Letting him talk Booth into handing over that warrant.

Thankful for the afterlife, Booth chuckled at the thought of grabbing Sweets in heaven and giving the man a good hard shake, just to let him know that even if Booth forgave him for it, he hadn't forgotten any of it.

Watching the sun rise over the hill, Booth kicked at the ground and turned back to his SUV. Work was waiting for him, and maybe he could talk Bones into meeting him for breakfast.

Despite the pain of loss, life always continued.

"I miss you," Booth said to the empty air. Despite himself, he paused listening for a response, not surprised when one didn't come. Chuckling at what Sweets might have said to something like that, Booth returned to his vehicle, and drove away.


	8. Gingerbread

"Thank you for coming in today," Sweets said to Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. He wasn't saying it just to be polite, even though both of his parents had raised him to be so. He was genuinely appreciative the two had actually appeared, considering that happened when it was supposed to less than fifty percent of the time.

"Yeah, great," Booth replied, not at all happy to be in the office. Sweets had a tendency to come up with stupid tests to assess his and Bones' personalities, most of which he found annoying.

And today was no different. "Today, in honor of the holidays, I thought we'd talk about gingerbread men."

Booth and Brennan shared a glance and without a word they came to a decision about that day's session. Play along and they'd get out of there faster. In movements that appeared synchronized, the pair turned back toward Sweets.

"It's a cookie," Brennan replied, going for literal. What could a gingerbread man tell you about, other than whether a person liked the taste? The rest was obviously based on Sweets' pseudo-science.

Sweets refusing to be deterred, agreed. "Yes, Dr. Brennan, it is a cookie." Five minutes in and he was already being forced to call on his reserves of patience.

"Get on with it," Booth ordered. "I have shopping to do before Parker gets here."

Brennan turned back toward Booth. "Parker is coming for the holidays?"

A contented grin appeared on his face. "He'll be here for three days. Rebecca's going to fly in Christmas evening to pick him up before - "

"No," Sweets interrupted. "You two aren't going to do that. Back on topic."

Glaring, Booth pressed his mouth into a thin line, crossing his arms over his chest.

On suspects, the look worked rather well. Sweets had seen it too often to be bothered by it. Instead, the psychologist reached next to him and handed the unwilling participants a piece of paper. "I want you both to write down what part of a gingerbread man you eat first."

Eager to be out of there, Booth grabbed a pencil and wrote his answer down quickly. Brennan tapped her pen against her lips a couple of times before writing down her response.

"Now," Sweets said, reaching for their answers, "what part of the cookie you eat says a lot about your personality. Why don't we start with Dr. Brennan?"

Booth sighed heavily and did everything within his power to make his annoyance clear. Brennan also fiddled with imaginary lint on her pants, thinking about the set of bones waiting for her back in the lab.

"Dr. Brennan eats the right arm first," Sweets declared, ignoring them both. He was promised an hour, and he planned to get every minute he could. "This indicates that Dr. Brennan is skeptical in nature. Would you agree, Agent Booth?"

"Huh," Booth uttered, giving Sweets a blank look. "I wasn't paying attention."

Taking a deep breath, Sweets counted to five in his head. "Dr. Brennan eats the right arm first, which indicates that she is skeptical in nature. I was wondering if you agreed?"

Booth looked from Sweets to Bones and back again. "That's a trick question, right?"

Even Brennan had to fight back a smile at that response. Had Sweets been paying to her at all?

"Of course not, Agent Booth. Do you think Dr. Brennan is a skeptical person?"

"Clearly, you've been living under a rock. What the hell is the point of this if it's going to tell us things we already know? I have better things to do."

Knowing the session was rapidly deteriorating, Sweets put Dr. Brennan's paper down and retrieved Agent Booth's. "And Agent Booth's response was…" Sweets tried to pause for dramatic effect, as he unfolded the paper. "To crumble the cookie into a glass of milk."

Looking like the cat who ate the canary, Booth waited for Sweets' response. "So what does that say about me?"

A nervous hand ran through Sweets hair. Why did the simplest of activities always end in disaster with these two? "Well…" he began, as he frantically tried to come up with a response, "you didn't really answer the question as it was intended."

Grabbing Bones' hand, Booth jumped to his feet and dragged her behind him. "Well, then maybe next time you can come up with a better activity for us to complete. Come on, Bones. Let's go find something better to do."

Brennan shrugged, but followed Booth out the door.

"The head," Sweets said to the empty room. "You were supposed to say the head which indicates you are a natural leader."

Returning to his desk, he tucked their responses into the appropriate file and grabbed a covered plate from the shelf behind him. On it were several gingerbread men, a gift from a cute young lady in the mailroom. They had been the inspiration for his test.

Grabbing one cookie, which happened to be decorated with a particularly cheerful expression, Sweets bit off one of the legs first. "Just like that means I'm a sensitive person," he said around a mouth full of cookie.

Contemplating which part to eat next, he bit of the head, obliterating the cheerful face. Why should anything in that office be happy when he clearly wasn't?


	9. Presents

"Are you all done Christmas shopping, Agent Booth?" Sweets asked. He and Booth were on the way to interview a suspect in their latest case. Outside the windows of the SUV, the day was dark and dreary. The local station had indicated that heavy rain was on the way for later in the evening.

"I am, but I'm not," Booth said shortly, trying to stall any further conversation. This was a topic he'd been struggling with for several days and the last person he wanted to discuss it with was the man in the passenger seat.

Sweets nodded. "I have that problem, too. Think I'm all done buying presents for everyone and then I go out and buy a few more."

"That's not my problem this year. It's more that I haven't bought a gift for someone." Booth shook his head at himself. Hadn't he just tried to shut his conversation down? Now he was providing just enough information to make Sweets ask him more questions.

"Who haven't you bought a gift for, Agent Booth?" Sweets figured it was Hannah. The woman seemed like someone who would be hard to buy for, considering her nomadic existence. Sure the woman owned almost nothing, but there wasn't much you could buy a person who didn't stay long in one place.

Sweets was pretty sure Booth was ignoring that part of Hannah's personality. He could convince himself otherwise, but in the end Hannah would walk away, the psychologist was sure of it.

"Bones," Booth mumbled. "I haven't bought a gift for Bones."

Not the answer Sweets was expecting. "Why not? She treasures everything you get her, no matter how small. Why would she be the last person you buy for?"

Why did that statement make Booth feel like he'd just been punched? Very uncomfortable, Booth looked out the window, away from Sweets, then back through the windshield. "I'm not sure what to get her," he said lamely.

Which wasn't the problem at all. Booth wanted to give her the world, always had. It just wasn't appropriate now that he had Hannah.

No matter what he still felt for Bones.

Sweets noted the signs that indicated Booth's level of discomfort. Feeling that he was partly to blame for most of it, a heavy sigh filled the quiet interior. "I feel like I should apologize for some of this, Agent Booth."

One eyebrow raised, Booth shot Sweet a surprised glance. "What are you apologizing for?"

"If I hadn't pushed you to make a move outside of the Hoover-"

"Stop," Booth interrupted. "This isn't your fault. Something needed to change between Bones and I. It's clear now that she doesn't feel the same way about me as I do about her."

Realizing Booth probably hadn't caught his use of the present tense, Sweets made no move to correct him. He'd already tried to force Booth and Dr. Brennan together once and it had failed, spectacularly. This time, if they managed to find each other, they would have to do it on their own.

Nodding, Sweets turned toward the window on his side. After a moment of watching the city move past, he turned back. "That still doesn't explain the present."

"It's not the same between us. We aren't as close anymore now that Hannah is here. I truly don't know what's appropriate between us anymore." And he missed that closeness. God, what sort of mess had he gotten himself into?

"Are you still friends?" Sweets asked.

"She's my best friend," Booth admitted quietly. "Maybe Hannah should be, but…" he shrugged his shoulders, unsure of how to explain the difference. Bones knew things about him Hannah would never know, no matter how long they were together.

"Then buy her a gift, Agent Booth. You'll crush her if you don't."

Booth nodded, accepting that Sweets was right. "I tried to give her the best of me. It seemed like a pretty good present at the time. She didn't want it."

Sweets, without thinking, said the first thing that came to mind. "Are you sure about that?"

A glare was the only answer Sweets received. They rode in silence before Booth flipped on his signal and pulled to the side of the road.

"Now," he said, turning sideways to look at Sweets, "just what the hell are you talking about?"

Nervously, Sweets adjusted his tie. "Are you going to kill me for this?"

Booth shrugged. Let the man think what he wanted. A little fear always moved the conversation along. "Why would you ask me that? Bones made it pretty clear she didn't want me in that way."

Knowing in the back of his mind Booth probably wouldn't shoot him, Sweets threw caution to the wind. "Understand that I know very little about what happened after you left my office that night, Agent Booth. I encouraged you to take a gamble, and that was a mistake. A rather large mistake, in my estimation."

Nodding, Booth did nothing to encourage or discourage him from continuing. He'd spent a lot of time in Afghanistan replaying that conversation over in his head. Then, a chance meeting in the middle of a desert, and he'd let himself get lost in another. Someone who wanted exactly what he was offering.

Even if he was only offering half of himself. Some nights, in the dark, he wondered who in the relationship was being cheated more.

"Dr. Brennan loves you, Agent Booth. In my professional opinion, you are the first person she's truly loved since her parents left."

"All because of some book you wrote?" Booth asked with a sneer.

"All because I have eyes and can see what's right in front of me," Sweets countered.

Clenching his jaw, Booth turned back forward and stared out the windshield. "I suppose that doesn't really matter now, does it Sweets? I'm with Hannah. That's where I belong. She accepts what I'm willing to give."

"Then you're a fool, Agent Booth. You had what everyone dreams about right in front of you. You waited five years to tell her your feelings because you were scared to do so, then when she got scared you took off. Five years for you to work up the courage," he said again, driving the point home. "You didn't wait five minutes for her."

Ignoring the growing tension from the other side of the car, Sweets continued. "Of course, like I said, I wasn't there. Is there something in that description that's wrong? Did you try to convince her? Show her all the ways she was wrong? You know Dr. Brennan better than she knows herself. Do you really believe she's not in love with you?"

The slam of Booth's palm against the dash was loud in the SUV. Angry at Sweets' words, Booth worked to control his temper. "This conversation is over," he said softly, reaching to put the vehicle back in gear.

"You're right, it is over," Sweets said. Before Booth could move the car forward again, Sweets threw off the seatbelt and fumbled for the handle of the door. "Go interview the witness yourself, Booth. I'll call a cab to get back to my office."

Watching with an expression Sweets could describe any number of ways, Booth let him go. It was probably for the best they not be together right then.

As soon as the door was closed, Booth pulled away from the curb, only to round the corner and park where Sweets couldn't see him. It wasn't until the cab had picked up his colleague that Booth continued on to the interview.

Back in his office, Sweets dug through his file cabinet to find the manuscript of his book about Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. He flipped through the pages, trying to decide who he was the angriest at. Agent Booth for giving up so easily, Dr. Brennan for not taking a chance, himself for encouraging the stupid conversation to begin with, or fate in general?

Frustrated, he picked up the pages and tossed them toward the ceiling of his office, watching as they fell to the ground like snow.


	10. Cookies

_A/N: If you read yesterday's entry early, please revisit it. It didn't feel complete after I posted, so I added to it. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews._

Booth stepped into the house and sniffed appreciatively. It smelled wonderful. Someone had clearly spent the day baking, cookies he hoped, and he quickly threw his keys into the bowl by the door. Maybe some of those wonderful things would be ready and he could work on ruining his dinner. Bones wasn't home to stop him from eating five or six of something.

His good mood lasted until he rounded the corner and spotted the kitchen. Stopping short, he took a deep breath.

His attempt at patience lasted until he opened his mouth. That was a good five seconds. It should count. Right?

"What the hell have you done to the kitchen?"

A head popped up from behind the island. Dark hair was covered in so much flour, he looked as if he'd aged fifty years since the last time Booth had talked to him. Which had only been that morning.

Sweets smiled and ducked his head behind the counter again. "Just a little accident," he called out. "Nothing to worry about. I'll have this cleaned up in no time."

It was the tone that had Booth's eyebrows lifting toward his forehead. Booth had used it once or twice on his grandparents when he was trying to hide something he'd done. It hadn't worked on them, either.

Exhaling a breath, Booth considered his options. He could follow Sweets' advice, go upstairs, and pretend he hadn't seen the state of his kitchen. Or he could man-up and help Sweets clean up whatever mess he'd managed to make.

Knowing what Bones would say if she came home and saw the mess, Booth realized there was really only one option.

Pushing up his sleeves, Booth tried to avoid the various piles of flour as he approached Sweets. There was a plate of finished cookies on the counter, and while tempted, Booth didn't touch them. A reward for when this mess was cleaned up. "What exactly happened?" he asked grabbing a broom. Only to realize that the broom was too small a weapon to bring to this battle.

Sweets squatted in the middle of a pile of flour and broken eggs, trying to wipe at the mess with a towel. "I hit the bag of flour with my elbow and when I turned to try and catch it, I hit the container of eggs. The flour bag burst when it hit the floor. As did the eggs."

Picking up his head, Sweets looked around. "It was like someone set a bomb off in here. Everything just kept falling and exploding."

Grabbing the dustpan, Booth lowered himself next to Sweets. "Let's try and push some of the eggs into this."

Relieved to have help, Sweets reached behind him to grab more towels and elbowed Booth in the nose.

"Ow! What the hell?" Booth reached up to cover his nose with a hand, only to lose his balance and sit on several broken eggs.

"Oh, shit. You're bleeding," Sweets said, holding out the handful of towels he'd managed to retrieve.

Reaching out, Booth grabbed them and pressed them to his nose. He could feel the broken eggs seeping through his pants. "Watch what you're doing." His voice sounded stuffy with the paper towels pressed to his face.

"Sorry." Sweets got to his feet. "Let me help you up so you can go change." He attempted to step forward to help Booth, only to slip on the debris from his failed attempt to make cookies. His feet flew into the air, and Sweets landed on his back, his breath leaving him in a loud whoosh.

Booth snorted a laugh, and groaned when it irritated his already injured nose. Sweets rolled around on the floor, hands over his stomach, trying to remember how to breath again.

That was how Bones found them. Two grown men, sitting in a pile of broken eggs and flour, alternating between laughter and exclamations of pain.

With dainty steps, she made her way toward them, managing to avoid both the eggs and the flour. Booth met her eyes and shrugged, the bloody paper towels still held to his face.

As Booth had done, she considered all her options, but chose the wiser of them. Something she would remind Booth of several times over the next couple of days.

"I'll be upstairs changing," she said, pointing in that general direction. "I believe it will take at least an hour. Make sure all of this is cleaned up by then."

With a little grin, she grabbed the plate of cookies from the counter. "And I think I better take these with me. I don't want you to ruin your dinner."


	11. Carols

Sitting at the large conference table, Booth pulled out five files and fanned them out. Sweets, after pouring a cup of coffee, sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table.

"These are your suspects?" Sweets asked.

"Yeah," Booth said. "Good luck keeping them all straight."

Sweets felt like Dr. Brennan. "I don't know what that means."

Pulling out the first file, Booth opened the cover. "Our first suspect is Carol Pearl. Wife of the victim. She admits she and husband were having marital difficulties."

An attractive older woman with dark hair looked out from the photograph. Sweets took a second to study it before nodding. "A bad marriage is always motive for murder."

"Second," Booth continued, opening the next file, "is Carol Smith. She is the deceased's secretary."

Taking the photograph out of the file, Sweets placed it next to the first. "These two women could be mother and daughter," he remarked. The similarities between to two pictures were clear. Carol Smith looked like a younger version of the first Carol.

The third file was flipped open. "It gets better," Booth said. "This file belongs to Carol McMahon, sister to the victim. You keeping track of all this, Sweets?"

The coffee was cool enough to drink at that point, and the psychologist took a sip. "Put her picture next to the first two," he said.

Booth did as directed and Sweets marveled at the similarities between the suspects. Suspiciously, he looked at the two files that remained in front of Booth.

"Both those files belong to women named Carol, too?" he asked.

Nodding, Booth pulled out two more photos. "This is Carol Pearl, mother of the victim. And this last one is Carol Green, aunt to the victim."

"So," Sweets said, trying to make sense of it, "we have five suspects, all named Carol, and two of them, the wife and the mother, are both named Carol Pearl."

Booth poked at the pictures. "And all of these women could be related to each other just based on the photographs."

"That's a lot of Carols," Sweets said. "Do they all have a motive?"

The wife and husband were fighting, the sister was angry because mom kept giving her brother money, the mom was tired of giving the money, the aunt thought her sister was being taken advantage of, and the secretary was sleeping with him."

"So what do want me to do?" Sweets asked. "They all have a decent motive. Don't you have more evidence from Dr. Brennan?"

"Honestly?" Booth asked. "I want you to tell me how one man could be so fascinated with women named Carol."

Taking the photos, Booth had to look at the names written on the reverse side to sort them back into the correct folder. That task finished, he leaned back in his chair and waited for whatever insight Sweets could offer.

Considering everything he'd learned over the years, Sweets opened and closed his mouth several times before beginning. "I'm sure I could give you an in-depth analysis into human behavior, but…I don't think that's what you're looking for here."

"Yeah," Booth said. Getting up, he began to pick up the files. "You know what, Sweets, I don't need an explanation, I came up with one all by myself."

"What is it?" Sweets asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Some people are just weird," Booth said.


	12. Christmas Music

Booth stood at the refrigerator, Christmas music playing softly in the background. The season had ended, but he wasn't quite ready to let go of the songs yet. It seemed so silly that you only got to listen to it for a few weeks a year. Some of the greatest songs, in his opinion, came from his favorite time of year.

Humming softly, he found what he was looking for and made sure the door closed tightly. Booth couldn't sing. He did it in the shower when no one was around and it was clear he couldn't carry a tune.

But that didn't mean music didn't speak to him.

The words to the National Anthem echoed in his blood each time he heard those notes. Standing proud and tall, he honored his country, and his family, each time he gave voice to those words. He worked hard to make sure his children understood the sacrifice and respect that came from that song.

 _Hot Blooded_ was a song he'd liked in his youth, but it wasn't really a part of his life, until that night in Bones' apartment. She danced like he sang: enthusiastically, but badly. It didn't mean he hadn't enjoyed the way she moved her body to the music.

Had her current love interest at the time not called and interrupted their dance…well…it was hard to say where that night would have ended. Of course, that call led to him getting drinks, which saved her life, so maybe it went just the way it was supposed to.

Then, there was that crazy night at when he talked his up-tight partner into singing karaoke. Too bad his crazy stalker had shown up and tried to shoot Bones. Sweets had been right in warning him about Pam Noonan. He stepped in front of Bones without hesitation; his body knew his feelings, even if he hadn't totally admitted them to his brain yet.

He still carried the scar from that wound. It was a little more faded now than the rest, but Bones would run her fingers across the spot when they lay in bed sometimes. He'd never asked her what she was thinking about when she did it. He didn't regret the move he made to save her life, but Booth often regretted what came after.

Sweets was responsible for that little mix-up. Despite what everyone believed, Booth knew Sweets had been testing them. Testing Bones in particular. It was one of those things, Booth still hadn't quite forgiven him for. Nights when Bones ran her hand across that spot on his chest, and tucked herself just a little bit closer against him, made him want the man to come back to life just so Booth could smack him a few times.

But Booth believed everything happened for a reason. Sweets had been instrumental in so many things, some of them good, some of them not so good. Those stupid personality tests he made them take. At the time, Booth found them to be the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done. What could a set of questions and answers really tell you about a person?

Now, when he came across one of those quizzes in a magazine, he took it and pretended to hear Sweets' voice in his head, explaining the answers to him.

His song, too. Booth could hear Sweets' voice in his head each time that song came on the radio. Sweets claimed it was his jam when the squints sang it for Bones' murdered intern. They'd finally been together then, he and Bones. Partners, no longer just at work, but in life, too. That song brought so many emotions to the surface when he heard it. The deaths of his friends, the life he'd begun with Bones. The child they'd conceived that first night, even though neither of them knew it yet.

Sweets had been so surprised, so overjoyed when they made several announcements at once. He and Bones were a couple. They were going to have a baby. Life, Booth's life in particular, was more perfect that he ever dared to hope for a short year ago.

The psychologist liked to pretend that he'd seen it coming the whole time, even if his misplaced advice after the retelling of his and Bones first case together had almost screwed the whole thing up. Had screwed it up, at least for a little while.

Singing that song to him the day his ashes were spread was one of the harder things Booth had done in his life. A song that happy shouldn't be associated with so much death.

Life had its own music as far as he was concerned, and Booth was thankful he could still dance to it. Sweets had danced as well, even if his song had ended a bit sooner that it was supposed to. But the two men had danced. In anger, in friendship, as colleagues and as family.

It had been a song well-played and a dance performed with happiness and laughter.

Booth was happy he'd been a part of it.

 _A/N: I want to thank everyone for reading and commenting! I hope you enjoyed these little stories. As Booth feels, I'm glad to have been part of it._


End file.
